What Dreams May Come
by la-temeraire
Summary: A series of dreams that Horatio has in later life. PostBarbara. TV show canon up till the end of tv shows, then book canon. I must confess I don't actually know how rating works so I'll just put it at M. Worst thing you'll get is some kissing, though.


If I owned them... Well, let's leave it at that. They all unfortunately belong to Mr. Forester. Or the Forester Estate. (Stupid gits.) I wish I owned them though. Lemme see... I'd make sure Archie didn't die... I'd make sure people gave out free cherry-flavored chupa chups on a regular basis... I'd make sure mangoes grew all year round and tasted as good all year round... that the second series was filmed at sea... what else?

These are standalone drabbles... one shots... vignettes... and so on. They're kind of disconnected. Some are slash.. some aren't. Some are alternates of the drabbles that came before. Some follow on. It's kind of like a series of dreams that Horatio has, where he gets visited by people.. I don't think they're very good, but what the hell. It's my first shot at fanfic. They're about 1000 words each, give or take. I can't guarantee that I'll put them in order... but I promise you THERE ARE NO TYPOS. My grammar's a little crazy... but deal with it. If it sounds good to me, to hell with grammar.

So go on. Flame me. I so totally deserve it anyway. I'm just hoping that since this is a pretty obscure fandom, I'll be safe from the savaging claws of critics. However, if the 'Mr Fantastic-oh-my-god-eye-oh-an-is-so-hot' fans come along, unable to pronounce 'Ioan' correctly, and begin to bay for my blood- well, I'm outta here.

Life cheats us with shadows, like a puppet- master. We ask it for pleasure. It gives it to us, with bitterness and disappointment in its train. We come across some noble grief that we think will lend the purple dignity of tragedy to our days, but it passes away from us, and things less noble take its place, and on some grey windy dawn, or odorous eve of silence and of silver, we find ourselves looking with callous wonder, or dull heart of stone, at the tress of gold-flecked hair that we had once so wildly worshipped and so madly kissed. . . .

- Oscar Wilde, Intentions

It happened in a dream. That was the only way to describe it; a dream, filled with white light in an impossibly long room- no, corridor, with high arched ceilings, luminescent, and he looked down and found himself in his full dress, admiral's cockade, dress sword, everything. What was he doing here? He didn't know, but some sense of urgency told him to go, to go while there was still time, but his logic only laughed and said, tis but a dream-

"And there is nowhere to go, anyway, " a voice chided. A soft voice, a loving voice, mellow and deep and sweet and achingly familiar.

He swung around. "Who is it?" he asked, immediately wary.

"It's me, " the voice said, growing cold, accusatory, and he saw coming down the hall, obscured by the light, a dark coat- a lieutenant's coat, that seemed to be floating out of the white- a blur of gold hair-

Kennedy.

"Kennedy?" It was a question, not a statement.

"Yes, Horatio. It's me."

Relief should have flooded through him, but instead he found himself looking at Archie and he felt nothing, no relief, no horror, no burst of love or surprise, just a cold observation of the man's features and the neat navy coat with the lieutenant's white lapels and brass buttons.

"My, my. " Archie said. Horatio could see his blue eyes, now icy. "An admiral now, I see. "

He was so close now, so close- Horatio could feel the heat from his body, and fingers flicked the hanging fringe of his epaulettes. Horatio couldn't speak, but he heard words coming out of his mouth. "You're dead, " he whispered.

Archie's lips thinned into a smile, a cold, unfriendly smile. "Yes. I see you at least remember that part."

"Kingston."

"In 02. Do you remember how I died? I died to save you."

"It was your choice, " Horatio said, voice hard, flat.

Archie nodded. "Yes. I sold myself for you. "

Silence filled the space, as they stared at each other and Horatio found himself thinking that surely there was nothing, nothing outside this room, surely the world was this size and the only things in the world were these walls and themselves- He said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Judas, " Archie said, levelly. "You goddamned Judas."

"I take offence at that, sir!"

"Damn your impudence, " Archie said wryly. "Pellew said that to you that first day. You told me, remember? But you sold me at Kingston the day after I died, you sold me. I purchased your life with my honor, with my life, because I loved you and how did you repay me? You sold what I did for thirty pieces of silver, just like Judas, you sold me for the gold epaulette of a post-commander, you betrayed me when I died for you! "

"I did as I thought best, Kennedy-" Horatio said, fighting to maintain his self-composure.

"There wasn't even a funeral, " Archie continued, turning away in disgust, linking his hands behind his back, ignoring him. "Pellew at least made sure I got a burial in some godforsaken patch of ground; not a sea burial, but he made sure it faced the sea, and he read a service, he even read what I had asked him to read. My brother came to Kingston to put up a stone, and he had it engraved with Fidele, but you- I asked you to read that poem over me, not Pellew- do you even remember it?"

Archie turned back, lips twisting bitterly upwards in a smile, and began to quote.

_..."Fear no more the heat of the sun, _

_...or the furious winter's rages, _

_...thou thy worldly task hast done, _

_...Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages..."_

Kennedy... Kennedy's voice, still so clear and low and sweet... So sad...So beautiful... Was he still beautiful? Certainly nothing had changed about his face, his body- but Horatio had forgotten what _beautiful_ meant when it was applied to another human... But Kennedy had been beautiful... Kennedy swinging aloft from the rigging. Kennedy laughing, Kennedy's eyes blue and achingly familiar and his smile white and sweet, his tan skin and strong body, and Kennedy running across the bridge for him-

_..."Golden lads and girls all must, _

_...like chimney-sweepers, come to dust..." _

But he could no longer bear it, and his voice returned, came to life and said, pleadingly, achingly- "Archie-" in a tone he had never heard from himself before. A funny voice that seemed full of so many strange emotions he'd forgotten to feel; and it astonished him so that he- solemn, stern Admiral Hornblower- should feel this way.

Archie ignored him. "And you did nothing. You took the promotion and turned your back to what I gave up- I deserved better from you, Horatio. "

Horatio felt the heat and the prickling in his nose, a feeling he had not felt for many years; even when Archie had died he had not wept, and when Bush had died he had simply felt a short shock of loss that he had quickly dismissed, and grief for him had fallen by the wayside, shed with his lieutenant's uniform after that business with the Renown. He felt the hot tears trickling down his face, and felt the pain of crying, touching his face, hot and damp with tears, with wonder that he was capable of these depths of feeling.

"And the last twist of the knife- " Archie said, laughing bitterly, as Horatio had never heard him laugh, sarcastic and harsh and flat. "You denied Hammond's madness. His treason. For the good of the service. You put away childish things. Oh yes, you put away those things of your youth, Horatio... You turned to a service that regarded the truth as childish, so irksomely foolish, where lies told without hesitation are the mark of a man. You turned to Pellew's fulsome praise- he was a good man until politics got the better of him- the Pellew who came back at Muzillac was not the same Pellew at the court-martials in Kingston, don't you think? - and his biblical quotations."

"Clearly he had forgotten the most glorious parts of the Bible-" Archie continued, ironic smile dimpling his face. " Sacred is the truth, and the truth shall set you free...Thou shalt not bear false witness, saith the Lord. "

"Archie, please! You don't understand- you don't understand! You can't understand what it was like- you were dead- I could not refuse without insulting-"

"Insulting who?" Archie asked, rhetorically, his face twisting in anger. " The service? Pellew? Your own sense of self-worth? Oh, Horatio, Horatio... You sold me as surely as I sold myself for you."

"You don't understand!"

"Oh I do! " Archie said, sharply. "And that is what you have always chosen to ignore: that I do understand, that I always understand! 'You have nothing to fear from the enemy, Archie, ' you said. They mean to kill us, Horatio, I answered. Oh, you should have known by now. I understand far too well. "

"You cannot understand! It was- It was- I couldn't have refused- You died so I could make something of myself-"

"Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all!" Kennedy countered. " Oh, you have not mistaken me. But I died so that the Horatio I knew could live- the earnest, upright, honest hero- and the minute I died you quashed your better judgment like some irritant, like some fly, and you quelled those things I died to save!"

"I did what I thought best- it was for the good of the service!"

"Did I always mean so little to you?" Archie demanded. "Was I always expendable? You saved me in Spain, but now that I see you- the fine, noble Admiral Hornblower- truly a success in all the ugliness of that word- I wish I had not drunk from that glass you offered in Ferrol . Would that I had died before I saved you, before you turned into this callous expedient monster!"

"I- I- Oh, god, Archie- please, Archie-" he cried out, sinking to his knees. He found that the tears were streaking down his face, suddenly heavy, as he cradled it in his hands. "Oh, god, Archie, Archie-" he pleaded.

Archie turned back, rocking slightly back and forth on his heels, his clear pleasant voice lilting. "When I was a child, I saw as a child... I thought as a child... but when I became a man, I put away childish things... what we see now is as a dim reflection in a mirror. Do you remember what comes before, Horatio? "

Horatio shook his head mutely, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face..

Archie continued, speaking those old words that Horatio had almost forgotten, words that stung in his ears and made his head ache because of their awful, searing truth as he clutched his head in pain.

"Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels, if I have not _love_.. I am become as sounding brass or a ringing bell. And though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith so that I could move mountains yet have not _love_..."

'Stop! " Horatio whimpered from the floor, between his fingers. "Archie- please, I beg of you- stop-"

"I am nothing, " Archie said, simply. " And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, if I have not love... It profits me nothing. Love suffers long, and is kind. Love does not envy. Love does not flaunt itself, is not puffed up... does not behave itself unseemly. It seeks not her own. What good is an admiral's uniform, Horatio, if you have not love?"

An unearthly silence filled the air as Kennedy searched his eyes with his own blue ones, so insistently disconcerting, so questioning.

_"What _**do**_ you have?"_

Horatio woke up, suddenly, in the stifling heat of the night, gasping and frightened, struggling and thrashing under the thin blankets, skin sweat-slick. Barbara, beside him, awoke at the scuffle.

"Horatio? What is it?" she asked, sleepily, turning in the bed, finding a cool spot.

"Nothing, " he said, his voice uncommonly thick, as he fought down the urge to scream. "Nothing, just a dream. Go to sleep. "

He rose from the bed. The cool night air came in through the windows, ruffling his loose hair, and he stood there in his thin nightshirt, regarding the stars. Beauty such as this often failed to move him, but that night as he stood there, he realised they were still beautiful, and words came unbidden to his mind, words uttered in a memory, in a soft voice..

"Take him, and cut him up in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will fall in love with night, " he whispered to the quiet breeze. A flurry of thoughts invaded his mind...

_Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels..._

_...what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, may give us rest... I am nothing... it profits me nothing... nothing... I am nothing... I have nothing- what we see is as a dim reflection in a mirror... golden lads and girls all must, like chimney sweepers, turn to dust-_

Yes, he had been golden. He had been beautiful. _ Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages... I am nothing... when I was a child, I saw as a child... I spoke as a child... I am nothing... _ He had been so achingly beautiful... Yes, beautiful; though he hesitated to give the word to anything these days it was instinctive to apply it to Kennedy... yes, the young man had been beautiful. Reckless and insouciant... But he was beautiful.

For a moment he stood there, dwelling on a sweet smile and blue eyes and gold hair and the golden, heady days of youth, of idealism, of hope... but then his mind, his stern admiral's mind conquered his nostalgia, quelling it harshly. What foolishness to think on those days, those wasted days... yet the image of Archie, as in that dream- blurred through his tears, as a dim misted-over reflection in a mirror, so beautiful- so heartbreakingly beautiful, lingered there... and would not leave him.

_For the good of the service... you sold me... callous expedient monster... love suffers long... I do understand. I understand all too well... yet tell me not, for I have heard it all! You sold me!_

_...Judas. You goddamned Judas._

For the first time in years, Admiral Hornblower- Sir Horatio Hornblower, Lord of Smallbridge, much-lauded naval hero- found himself weeping uncontrollably, shaken with racking sobs, broken and tamed and humiliated by the memory of that young, beautiful man, by the unbearable weight, the unbearable lightness, the unbearable emptiness of existence.

_...I am nothing._


End file.
